


Just Follow My Lead

by mssrj_335



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (probably), Angst, Dancing as a Communication Device, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finn Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Finn has a lot of feelings, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Finn (Star Wars), Poe Can Be Patient, Post-TRoS, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: The celebration is over and Finn finds himself alone--really alone--for the first time. There's too much going on in his head and he can't put words to everything that's crashing around him. Lucky for him, Poe is never far away
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 22
Kudos: 128





	Just Follow My Lead

**Author's Note:**

> i felt this one in my bones yall  
> good luck don't cry  
> or cry to me in the comments, i'm down for that

It’s so quiet now. Finn’s ears are still ringing with cheers and loud music and a shot of someone’s Corellian whiskey. He can hear the silence though, sitting so deep in his ears it makes his teeth grate. He slumps back in his seat, watching the last of the partiers stumble their way from the main hall.

Would he normally say good night and good rest?

Yes.

Now?

He’s alone.

For the first time, he's really alone.

A wave of exhaustion rolls over him, covering him in a suffocating sensation that feels a little too much like his old trooper armor. Something dark claws at him, punching holes in his chest and building a pressure that hadn’t been there until he realized he was alone. He leans forward and puts his head in his hands, trying and maybe failing to shore up the dam that’s splintering under the weight of…whatever this is.

He doesn’t even know himself well enough to put a finger on it. The First Order still looms behind him even if the Resistance has come out on top. Kriff, it’s been only a year and he’s just been going and going and going. What is it supposed to feel like now that it’s stopped? That _he’s_ stopped? Confusion and anger light hot in his chest and he scrubs his eyes. He should be happy, right? The hard part’s over. They _won,_ so why does he feel like—

“Hell, Finn, are you ok?”

Finn shoots up. Kriff, he didn’t even hear anyone approach, thoughts too loud in the silence. Poe’s crouched in front of him, a steadying hand on his knee, close enough to see the feelings leaking from his eyes and dripping on the plascrete floor.

“Fine,” he croaks.

He’s not crying, just leaking. There’s too many _things_ welling up inside him; they have to go somewhere, right? He digs his fingers into his eyes and covers his face for just a second. He’s not ready to face Poe’s warm brown eyes just yet.

“Hey, c’mon, look at me.”

Seems he doesn’t have a choice. Poe’s voice isn’t demanding but his hands are gently pulling at Finn’s and really, how could he say no? He takes a steadying breath in and feels it shake through to his boots when he lets it out.

“Finn, what’s wrong?” Poe’s so earnest and it hurts for reasons he’s not sure of yet. “Talk to me.”

He wants to. _Stars_ , he wants to.

But he doesn’t know what it is he wants to say.

“I—” He falters. Poe finally has his hands down, cradling them tenderly, and there’s nowhere to hide from his eyes. “I don’t—”

He feels his throat close. Poe’s still looking at him like he’ll break any second. He can’t stand it. Everything is boiling inside him but he bites his lip so hard it hurts and forces all that _everything_ back down where it was.

“I’m ok,” he says. _He has to be_.

His voice is still rough but at least he’s managed to stem the tide.

“You disappeared there for a while,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. He rocks forward and gets to his feet, striding for the bar.

He’s desperate to pretend like that little thing didn’t happen; he wants a drink and a sense of normalcy. Poe is still crouched in the floor, looking wrong-footed, but he blessedly lets the moment go and wanders over to the music player.

“I uh was just checking on Chewie.” Poe sets the volume lower and starts a song to fill the silence. His face is too neutral and Finn is too deep in his head to think anything of it. “He’s got Maz but I wanted to make sure he was ok, you know, after…”

_After Leia._

Finn doesn’t say it and neither does Poe but it hangs between them. Poe slides onto a stool in front of him and he takes another breath, clears his throat.

“That’s good. He ok? You want one?” he asks, gesturing with whatever bottle was closest.

“Yeah. He’s good,” Poe hums, keeping his eyes on Finn’s face, who decides to listen to the music instead of meeting his gaze. It’s a slow, lilting song, a soft drum keeping time for some melancholy stringed instruments that sound as lonely as he feels.

The anger and confusion expand in his chest again. Poe is _right there_ and Poe usually makes him feel _so much_. As soon as the _Falcon_ had landed, who had he sought out? Who had he found and crashed into and held so tight it hurt when the first realization of _the end_ had washed over him? Only now, the bar table cuts him off at the knees and he can’t move. There’s space open by Poe and it looks so inviting but he can’t bring himself to come around to the other side. Poe is right there, but this time Finn doesn’t want him close.

He’s suffocating again.

_What if this nasty feeling comes off? What if Poe falls under the same horrible shadow?_

Oh, that’s what it is. He can’t share this. He can’t even entertain the idea. They’ve spent so long fighting, someone deserves to be happy. And Finn desperately wants Poe to be happy. So, he pours himself a drink and pours one for Poe and pretends to smile.

“You ever dance?” Poe asks, apropos of nothing.

The question catches him so off guard that the drink in his hand stops halfway to his mouth. He waits a second for clarification but none comes.

“Uh, no,” he says, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Not a lot of time for dancing in the First Order.”

“Guess we haven’t had time to dance since you got out,” Poe muses, his attention turned to his drink. “Or reason.” He holds to glass at eye level, twisting and turning it in the dim light.

“Guess not.” Finn remembers what’s in his hand and tosses it back, trembling a little as it burns its way to his gut.

“We could dance now…” Poe murmurs before he sips his drink. “Seems like a good time.”

Finn scoffs and moves to pour another. “A good time?”

Poe takes another sip and holds his eyes. “Yeah, why not?” He stands, catching Finn’s hand before he can reach the bottle. His fingers linger, thumb tracing gentle patterns on the inside of Finn’s wrist. “We finally have a good reason.”

Absolutely no part of him wants to dance in that instant; there’s still too much in him, threatening to escape his eyes again.

He doesn’t want Poe to see it.

“I don’t know how,” he offers as an excuse.

“C’mon, buddy, there’s no art to it,” Poe coaxes. Finn feels his resolve waver. “It’s just you an’ me.”

_Just you and me_. Something about that warms him, soothes the ache in him. It’s something he’s wanted for a long time.

_Just you and me_.

“Ok,” he breathes.

He lets Poe guide him from behind the bar and out to the empty floor. The melancholy strings are still plucking, pulling at his heart, but it’s nothing compared to the way he feels when Poe pulls him close.

“Like this,” Poe says, guiding Finn’s hand around him. He lets one hand settle at the small of Poe’s back, then the other one. He likes the way Poe’s good arm reaches around his and fits below his shoulder-blades. It’s just a hug really, but it feels so good. No one is watching; it’s just them. Poe tucks his face into his neck but he shudders when he feels Poe’s breath there.

“Just follow my lead,” Poe murmurs, lips brushing his skin.

There’s not much to it. Poe starts to sway gently back and forth to the beat, his hand inching up from Finn’s back to hold his neck. This is easy, something he can do, and it burns a little more of the ache out of him. Poe’s injured arm is trapped between them, still in its sling. Despite it—or maybe facilitated by it—he manages to cling, threading his fingers through the buttons of Finn’s shirt so they press warm against his stomach.

They sway together in silence long enough for the song to change to another soft tune. Poe sighs against him and it feels content. Finn wants so badly to hold him tighter but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“I have nightmares, you know,” Poe admits into his neck.

He knows exactly what Poe’s nightmares sound like, knows exactly what Poe looks like after. He sees Poe’s wild eyes when he wakes and every time, he desperately wants to stay, to comfort. But Poe doesn’t invite him. So he doesn’t stay. Finn gives in a little and presses his cheek against Poe’s head. “I know,” he murmurs. “I can hear them. When we fly together. I wake you up sometimes, remember?”

Poe hums again and leans a little closer. “Do you know what they’re about?”

That makes Finn pause. He falters in his step. “Uh…no. I—I don’t think you ever told me,” he says as he gets the rhythm back.

“Yeah,” Poe breathes. “I…was afraid to.” He hesitates for a moment but only a moment. “I was afraid of what they meant.”

Something tight constricts in Finn’s chest.

“I dream about Ren sometimes. When I was on the _Finalizer_. I dream about all the times I’ve failed. Sometimes I can’t sleep because of it.”

He knows logically he can’t change Poe’s dreams but he viciously wants to. “It’s a good thing dreams stay where they should then.” He doesn’t snarl, but it’s a close thing. “We all make mistakes; doesn’t mean you’re not the best leader we have.”

“You’re in them. A lot,” Poe continues as if he hadn’t heard anything and that makes Finn’s breath freeze. “Sometimes you’re in good dreams. Sometimes you leave. A lot of the time you die. Those are usually the worst.”

Poe’s voice cracks at the end and what’s left of the distance in Finn dissolves. He pulls Poe flush against him, trying his best to say with action the words his tongue won’t form.

Poe sighs. “Then I wonder about you, how you must be doing with all of this—” Finn feels Poe’s grip tighten on his neck. “—and I can’t even begin to imagine.” The words are spilling out of him and as much as Finn wants him to stop he can’t get his mouth to work. “You _saved_ me. You must’ve been so scared, felt so alone on that massive kriffing ship but you still did the right thing. You escaped the First Order only to go right back in the mess to save Rey. You’ve sacrificed again and again and even though you got out, you never really got _free._ ”

They’ve stopped swaying. Finn can’t even hear the music anymore even though he knows it’s still playing. Poe pulls back and holds his eyes, cups his cheek with his hand. Then, he says, “You’re not alone,” like he’s heard the ache in Finn’s heart. “We’re in this together; you got me, if you want me.”

He tucks himself back into Finn’s arms, face in his shoulder. His voice is pleading.

“Tell me what’s going on, Finn, let me in.”

Finn feels himself freeze and Poe makes a little noise against him. “No no, don’t do that,” Poe says, “just follow my lead.”

Finn shatters.

“There’s something wrong with me, Poe,” he grinds out. His eyes are hot and his grip is probably too tight but he’s bubbling over again. “I don’t know why I feel this way. Everything should be good, _we won_ , the First Order’s over, but I think I’m broke. I’m—I’m not sure I’ll ever be right.” It feels like he can’t breathe. “I don’t know who I am. This war is all I was—the First Order was all I was—and it’s gone and over and I don’t know who I’m gonna be anymore. I’ve got Rose and Rey and Chewie and you; I’ve got a family, but I’ve never felt so alone—”

His throat constricts and a harsh sob forces its way from behind his teeth. He digs his fingers into Poe’s back and holds on to him like it’s the only thing to keep him from being blown away. Poe is stroking the back of his head, whispering little soothing sounds to his cheek. Poe’s swaying him back and forth again, this time not with the music, just to hold him, to move and let the feelings escape. This time, he lets Poe see him cry. All the confusion and fear and anger seethe out of him in fat, hot tears that stain his cheeks and Poe’s flight suit. Angry cries tear through him. He hates the feeling. He hates the First Order and all they’ve done—to the galaxy, and to him. He hates the emptiness that yawns vast in his chest. More than that, he hates that somehow it all feels like his fault. His knees wobble and he sinks to the cold plascrete but Poe doesn’t let him go.

Poe holds him, and it takes him a second to realize Poe is talking to him.

“Shh, it’ll be ok,” Poe murmurs. His voice is tight but he goes on. “It’s alright sweetheart, it's not your fault, I got you, you’re not alone, I got you.”

Poe repeats that soft mantra and lets him cry. Finn’s not sure how long they’re there, slumped in the main hall in the quiet music and dim light, but after a while it feels like enough. His head is pounding and everything vaguely aches, but he feels lighter.

“Hey…” he croaks.

“Yeah?” Poe’s voice is soft and there’s nothing more than that. No prompting, pulling, pushing, prodding. Just a gentle hand brushing circles on his back.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

He feels Poe smile against him. “Anytime, buddy. We’ll figure this out, one step at a time.”

Finn sits back and heaves a breath, steadying himself. There’s one thing he has to ask.

“Poe, when you said—” he tries.

He stumbles.

“You’ve got me. I’m with you,” Poe says, like he knows exactly what Finn needs to hear, reaching between them to wipe the last tears from his face. He presses a gentle kiss to Finn's forehead. “To the end.”

Finn leans back in and bundles Poe close, burying his face in Poe's shoulder. They kneel together in the main hall, knee to knee, chest to chest, until Finn feels a little more calm, a little more complete. Maybe he is a little broken but Poe is too. They can figure this out together.

One step at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> my boi needs to work through those feelings SOMEONE MAKE TIME FOR FINN'S FEELINGS


End file.
